


By Your Hands

by blackberrychai



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crimson Flower AU, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanising language, Felix kills Dimitri, Gore, Implications of suicide, M/M, please mind the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberrychai/pseuds/blackberrychai
Summary: Dimitri dies on the Tailtean Plains. But it is not by Edelgard's hands.Dimilix Week Day 2: Blood
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	By Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, mind the tags on this one. Please. It is rough. 
> 
> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/bidisasters/status/1361352070020829187?s=20) heart-breaking but amazing art. It made me suffer, and then it made me suffer more by making me desperate to write this little ficlet.
> 
> Warnings for: major character death, graphic violence, dehumanising language, gore. If I missed anything, please let me know!

Dimitri looks up at him, and his face twists into an inhuman grin.

“Ah, Felix,” he says. His voice is unsteady, breathing ragged, and he is hunched over and in on himself, practically on all fours on the ground. The hair that falls over his face is plastered by the rain against the sides of his head, and it makes him look small in a way that he has not in years.

Felix pulls a sneer onto his face. “Boar,” he says. “So, it’s come to this. I always wondered if your madness would end with you having to be put down, like the rabid dog you are.”

But Dimitri doesn’t even flinch like he would have once. He doesn’t even try to pull the mask back over his face—he just laughs. It’s a low, quiet sound, with absolutely no humour in it. “I suppose I did, too,” he agrees.

The words seem to catch in his throat, and the laugh twists into a wheezing cough. It sounds _damp_ , more than anything, and Dimitri’s hands claw into the dirt at his sides. When it subsides, he spits onto the ground between Felix’s feet. The spittle lands in a red pool before it’s washed away, and Dimitri’s lips are flecked with blood now.

Then he looks back to Felix, who still holds his sword aloft, ready to strike at any moment. The chuckle grows again, from a little noise in the back of Dimitri’s throat, into something that shakes his whole body as he laughs, something hysterical burning in his eyes. “We’ve come so far, Felix,” he says, smiling at him. “Look at us now. I wonder what our fathers would say, if they could—”

Felix doesn’t decide to thrust his sword forwards. But it happens anyway.

Dimitri’s words cut off into a guttural groan as the point of the blade slips delicately into his chest. He coughs again, a terrible thing which racks his body, which starts to bubble as the blood enters his lungs. He’s still smiling, and his eyes are wild as they meet Felix’s.

“I would rather die,” Dimitri says, each word obviously an effort, “By your hands than hers.”

The tone of his voice is gentle—somehow, _somehow_ gentle, even now, even here. And it sounds like a confession as it falls from his lips. It’s almost a whisper, and it is something that only Felix can hear, will ever hear.

Dimitri lifts his gauntleted hand from the earth. It shakes, but comes to rest on Felix’s blade, the leather and the skin underneath parting as he clenches his hand around the sharp edge. Felix keeps his swords well-honed. The blood wells up, and Dimitri’s gaze drops from Felix’s. He sighs, and smiles again, and then he drives the blade into himself.

Felix watches his sword slide in, his hands on the hilt drawn along with it, and something feels deeply, sickeningly right about the motion, his sword disappearing into Dimitri’s chest. And when the motion falters as Dimitri’s grip fails, his own hand tightens, and he pushes the sword through him, right up to the cross-guard.

He ought to have been watching, he thinks suddenly, as Dimitri goes limp. He ought to have been watching his eyes, seen if it is really true that you can watch the spark in someone go out as they die. If Dimitri still had a spark to be blown out.

But Dimitri’s eyes were obscured by his fine, pale hair. Felix withdraws his sword, and it came free with a slick noise that would have made him retch at most times. Dimitri slumps forwards—no, Dimitri’s _body falls_ forwards, and Felix drops to his knees, drops his sword, his arms coming up to catch him.

Dimitri is heavy. His clothes are soaked with rain, and the thick fur of his cape drags at Felix’s arms. He can’t hold on, and the body completes its slow descent onto the muddied ground, where it lies stretched out beside him. The blank eyes stare up at Felix.

His face is wet. The rain falls heavy on him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter [@blackberrychai](https://twitter.com/blackberrychai) if I haven't made you too angry with this fic!


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